


Inevitable Evil

by Bleeding_Changer



Category: Blink-182
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:04:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleeding_Changer/pseuds/Bleeding_Changer
Summary: Matt thought it was ‘inevitable evil’.He played music as long as he could remember himself and he knew how fast the hands could give away a musician. Not just hands but fingers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the translation of my own work made by my dearest friend [mangusta](http://mangusta.tumblr.com/) :)  
> Hope you'll enjoy it!  
> <3

Hoppus loved that adrenaline after concerts, when you want to scream, jump and smile ‘till your cheeks hurt, play and sing until you’re exhausted, until that very moment when fans fall down ‘cause they are exhausted just as you.  
They left the stage for the net of halls leading to their rooms, and everything around them became clear and sharp, and Mark loved that feeling – everything intensified in a thousand times, any emotion, any shade of colour and sound, everything around was enchanting, alive and right.  
Hoppus looked around, by habit searching for Skiba, just to share – in countless time – his joy. Matt stood away with some guys from backstage crew; he was looking closely at his palms. It didn’t take Mark too long to understand what had happened.

In a second Hoppus was looking at a rough, deep and wide cut on Skiba’s left-hand index-fingertip. The girl, who just fetched the first aid kit, as someone had asked her to, frowned not knowing how to come up. Mark barely checked himself from grinning and said half-smiling:

‘I think we can make it up ourselves, thanks,’ the girl nodded hesitantly and absently gave the kit to Hoppus. And Mark in his turn, gave Matt a kind look and pushed him a little bit forward towards the room. The guitarist silently gave in and after entering the room closed the door, facing Mark:

‘I don’t even remember when I got it,’ he tried to smile and frown at the same time; the face expression was really amusing. ‘I felt pain when we started playing “Reckless Abandon” in the end, but there was no time to do something,’ Matt shrugged giggling, sat down on the armrest of the sofa, and stretched out his hand to Mark who just came up to him.

 

Matt thought it was ‘inevitable evil’.

He played music as long as he could remember himself and he knew how fast the hands could give away a musician. Not just hands but fingers.

Matt thought it was ‘inevitable evil’ – always dry skin peeling off; alien bumps, rough and calloused, like unnatural, of another structure; small cuts and a couple of scars that one day were small rough and bleeding wounds and that were just left to heal on their own.

It was kind of a price he paid for being able to give music to people and to enjoy it.

 

Matt watched his finger bleed; he always called it ‘inevitable evil’, and Mark just shook his head – he loved every unnatural line on musician’s hand.

Hoppus disinfected the wound, and after wrapping it, carefully took Skiba’s hand in his own. He lightly and carefully kissed each fingertip and took Matt’s other hand. He touched the (ridiculous) diamond tattoo with his lips and lightly kissed all four letters of ‘love’ tattoo.

Matt watched silently and fascinated and then, just to come back to reality, said: ‘Plus one point to coolness, huh?’

Hoppus laughed soundlessly and shrugged intertwining their fingers still not letting go Skiba’s hands.

‘Those are your memories, each and every mark. Not ‘inevitable evil’ but…. let’s say noble regalia,’ Mark grinned again and then breathing out quietly, gently kissed Matt’s hurt finger through the bandage.

Skiba licked and bit his lower lip still looking at Mark even when he straightened and backed up a little.

‘Was it…. my reward?’ Matt tilted his head back a little, almost softly, calmly looking at Mark although his heart was racing.

‘More like privilege,’ Hoppus smiled smugly and slowly leaned forward to finally kiss the guitarist burying his hands in short blond hair.

 

Adrenaline, passionate fervour and heat

turned into something warm, bright, weightless, hovering in the air.

 

_(The four-letter word on guitarist’s knuckles.)_


End file.
